


a god to a nonbeliever

by ohwickedsoul



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Confessions, Dreams, Edward Elric Swears, First Kiss, M/M, The Gate of Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwickedsoul/pseuds/ohwickedsoul
Summary: What is God, to you?the Thing in front of Edward Elric says.I don’t know,he says in reply. He is weak, helpless, down an arm and a leg and all his alchemy and- Alphonse.What more has he to give?Liar, the voice says. It sounds amused.What is God, to you?
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	a god to a nonbeliever

**Author's Note:**

> Ed is like 21-ish in the fic, and Roy is 36-ish.

_What is God, to you?_ the Thing in front of Edward Elric says. 

_I don’t know,_ he says in reply. He is weak, helpless, down an arm and a leg and all his alchemy and- Alphonse.

What more has he to give?

 _Liar_ , the voice says. It sounds amused. _What is God, to you?_

Edward closes his eyes that he doesn’t really have, not in this strange dream space, and in the space behind his closed eyes there is still the outline of the Thing, and the Gate, and he thinks-

God is the snake in the grass, candles in the church built for the false prophet, God is sun on the brick, light through the pigeon’s wing, God is the ever-present headache that sits just above his eyes, the one that will kill him one day-

God is the crackle of energy between his palms at the moment of equivalent exchange, God is the stray cats Alphonse kept in his armor, God is the way Winry spins a wrench into the air, like it’ll never come down again-

God is the reflection of light off Sheksa’s glasses, God is the way letters are etched into Hughe’s tombstones, the oily sheen of Hawkeye’s gun, the way the skin wrinkles like fine silk on Scar’s scar-

God is the coiled trap of Roy Mustang’s mind, and the black of his eyes. God is the tightness in his throat as something tries to kill him, over and over. God is the tinny echo of Al’s laughter that is almost but not quite right, something that he would die for, over and over, to never hear again. 

_God is death,_ Edward Elric says. _But it’s mainly everything._

The Thing smiles. _Edward Elric,_ it says, and god- _God_ \- help him but it’s fucking loving, that smile, that sound, like it’s so fucking proud of him. _You really are a sharp one._

The scene starts to fade away, drip fro his mind, melting like oil and it catches in his eyelashes. 

_Now, Edward Elric,_ the thing says from a long way away, _what is good to you?_

Edward Elric wakes with a start, soaked in sweat, his automail aching around the ports like his limbs have been freshly stolen. 

His eyes wildly try to adjust to the dark, blinking hard like it’ll somehow help him focus. The room resolves itself into familiar shapes, familiar shadows, the sheets crumpled at the foot, a teetering pile of books shoved to the side where another person might lay. 

Edward Elric sees this, sees the faint light of the city in the distance through the window in the house that he shares with his brother. His heartbeat ratchets down a notch. 

He stares sightlessly into the dark, one hand still white knuckling the sheets. Thinks about death and doorways and the true face of God. 

Thinks about what is _good_ to him. Not God. Just good. 

“Ah, fuck,” Edward Elric says out loud to the dark of the room. “Hell of a way to realize it.”

* * *

It is with a god damn _purpose_ that Ed marches into Roy Mustang’s office the next morning. It is with so much purpose that Riza actually manages to materialize at his side about halfway there, keeping calm pace with him. 

“Brief me,” she says. The clip in her hair is new. Nicer than normal. Ed wonders where she got it.

“On what?” He says, continuing his march.

Riza’s step doesn’t falter- Ed cannot imagine such a thing happening- but there is a slight change in her movements that make him think she considered slowing. “Is there not something the matter?”

“No?” Ed asks, and he doesn’t have Riza’s eerie self-possession, so he actually slows to a stop. “What’s going on? There some intel I need to be made aware of?”

The two of them stare at each other for a moment, and Ed is pleased to note that Riza’s chin doesn’t tilt down towards him anymore. Baby steps. Fuck. Normal sized steps. Whatever. 

“You’re just going….to see the Colonel.” Riza says. She’s never stopped calling him that, even when Roy become a Brigadier General, then a regular one, and then- now- Fuhrer. 

“…Yes.” 

One of Riza’s eyebrows ticks up half a notch. Shock, realization through micro expression. “I see,” she says. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go win a bet.”

So saying, she gives Ed a nod and turns on her heel shortly, making her way back down the corridor.

“…What?” Ed says to the empty hallway, a little baffled, momentum slowed. The hallway, with its beige carpet and beige walls, does not answer. 

When he bangs into Roy’s office, Roy looks up from his paperwork with wide eyes. 

He’s wearing _glasses_. 

“What’s wrong?” Roy says sharply, half standing out of his seat. His hand is already in his pocket where Ed knows he keeps his gloves on him. “What’s happening?”

“What?” Ed says, baffled. “Nothing’s _wrong_ , why do people keep asking me that?” 

Roy doesn’t sit down, but his hand comes out of his pocket, slowly. “You have a-“ Roy makes a general hand-wavy motion around the area of his face, “a look, that you get.”

“A _look_?” Ed says. “What kind of look- no. Never mind. I don’t care.”

“Who else asked you what was wrong?” Roy says finally settling back into his chair. He pushes his glasses up onto his head, and it pushes his bangs back, reveals his forehead with its burgeoning fine lines, furrows in his brow. 

His eyes are dark in his face, and Ed is struck once again by the whispers from his dream-

_What is God, what is good-_

And how his final thoughts were of murder, of Al, and of Roy. 

Hell of a holy fucking trinity. 

“Ed?” Roy prompts, one eyebrow lifting. “If you’re just here to distract me from paperwork, I can’t say I’m against it-“

“I’m in love with you,” Ed blurts. 

Roy’s face does- a thing. Ed doesn’t know how else to describe it. It’s like it simultaneously lights up and shuts the fuck down. His mouth opens and he sort of jerks back, like Ed just slapped him across the face. 

Ed’s seen Roy get slapped by no less than three women. It’s very similar to that. 

Roy stares at him for a moment, and Ed stares right back. To be honest, he didn’t exactly come in here with a plan besides, _confess_ , and only now is he starting to consider that, maybe, this wasn’t the best idea. 

It’s like waking up from a daydream and looking around to realize that the water is suddenly at your neck, that you’re about to go under and didn’t even realize it. 

“What?” Roy says finally in a voice that cracks and croaks. His hands are gripping the arms of his chair, and without his gloves on Ed can see his knuckles are white. “Ed, what-“

“Are you really gonna make me say it again?” Ed huffs, crosses his arms. Well, damn. _Damn._ Maybe he’ll take up that diplomatic position in Xing after all, fuck it all to _hell_ -

“You can’t,” Roy’s saying, shaking his head. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” Ed snaps back, immediate and reflexive. 

“I’m fifteen years your senior, for one-“

“Fourteen.”

“The fact remains,” Roy says, despairing, “and I was your superior officer, and, god, Ed-“

“Just reject me and get it over with, Mustang,” Ed says, gritting his teeth. “I get it. I get it.” He does, even though his throat is itching and starting to ache with something that might be tears. God, if he cries in front of Roy Mustang he will never come back from Xing. 

“I-“ Roy says, and Ed looks up at him then with clenched jaw. Really looks, and his hands loosen on his arms because, well. 

Because Roy looks _wrecked_ , like Ed has just torn out his heart in front of him and is holding it in his hands, bloody and still beating. He’s pushed himself into the back of his chair like he’s against the firing wall, and his eyes haven’t left Ed’s since Ed opened his fat mouth. 

Most of all, most damning, is that Roy Mustang, for only the second time that Ed’s known him in the past fucking decade, is at loss for words. 

Ed’s hands fall away from his arms entirely. 

“You can’t,” Roy says again, soft. 

“Bullshit I can’t,” Ed says. “Tell me you don’t-“ he chokes on it, because he can’t even get the words out. Tell him what? Tell him that he doesn’t love him back? God, awful, he feels ill just thinking saying it out loud, because it’s _gross_ , feels weird and childish and so _dumb_ but Ed thinks it would kill him a little bit, even so, to hear it. 

Roy closes his eyes. “I can’t,” he says, very quiet. 

Ed stalks across the dark blue carpet, the space separating them, around Roy’s barrier of a desk. Roy opens his eyes at the footsteps, looks alarmed, shoves himself back from the desk in his dumb chair. 

All it does is give Ed more room to slide himself between Roy and his desk, looking down at him where Roy sits wide eyed in his chair. 

Ed allows himself a heartbeat to feel pleased about the ‘looking down on Roy’ thing before he refocuses on the matter at hand. 

“I had a dream about the Gate,” he says, no preamble, and even though Roy still looks a little bit like a soaked cat, winded and hurt, his eyes sharpen. 

“And?”

“And God himself told me to get my shit together, god damn, what else do you want from me, Roy?” Ed says, exasperated. 

“I thought you didn’t believe in God?” Roy says, and that’s more in line with the Roy Ed knows and- ugh, _ugh_ \- loves. 

“I don’t,” Ed says automatically. 

“No atheists in foxholes indeed,” Roy mutters, and there’s some color back in his face now, so Ed doesn’t feel bad about going back on the offensive. 

“There’s a difference between believing and _knowing_ ,” Ed says, and Roy gets this look like he really wants to follow the thread of that conversation, but that is not the point of this whole endeavor so Ed charges forward, headfirst like always. 

“If you tell me to go away, I will,” Ed says, relentless. “I just- can’t you just believe me, about this one?”

Roy’s fingers are slowly uncurling from the arms of his chair, the corners of his mouth softer. “It’s very difficult, you understand,” he says. “Are you sure you aren’t suffering from some sort of delusion?” Damn him but he sounds almost hopeful. 

“ _Roy_ ,” Ed says, doesn’t miss the way Roy’s eyes go a shade darker. “Please.”

Roy’s hands come up and settle around Ed’s hips in a way that makes Ed choke on his own spit. “Maybe I’m suffering from some sort of delusion,” he murmurs, looks at the way his fingers have settled on the narrow curve, the pale skin against the red of Ed’s jacket. “This is not an easy thing, you understand.”

“Why, cause you feel like a dirty old man?” 

Roy closes his eyes for a brief moment. “Yes, thank you, Ed, for reminding me we met when you were fifteen,” he says. “I suppose I don’t believe that someone like you could love me.” 

He says it so simply, so easily that it sounds like fact, like _faith_ , coming from his mouth, and Ed is once again struck by the difference between knowing and believing, and Roy is somehow managing both, for something that isn’t god damn _true._

“I both met and fought God,” Ed says. “What the hell makes you think that me loving you is something I can’t handle?”

Roy’s gaze softens, goes liquid and warm in a way that makes Ed burn even hotter than the gentle, tentative hold Roy has on his hips. “Only you, Edward Elric,” he says, “could turn a confession into something that sounds like you want a fight.”

Ed rolls his eyes, wants to shift his weight but he’s terrified if he moves, so will Roy’s hands. “Yeah,” he says.

Roy’s eyes crinkle up around the corners, and his thumb rubs against Ed’s hipbone in a way that’s- very distracting. “I love you too, you know.” he says, so casually Ed almost fucking misses it. Ed lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. “I have for a very long time.” 

“You were pining?” Ed says, starting to grin, starting to feel like his heart has started to beat again after so long in an empty space. “Oh my god, is this what Riza meant about the bet?”

Roy leans back, looking alarmed. “Riza’s the one you ran into?”

Ed takes a step forward almost unconsciously, trying to re close the space between them, and is gratified by the way Roy’s knees spread in his chair to allow Ed between them. “Yeah, why?”

“Fuck,” Roy mutters, but he’s still looking at Ed like he’s something unbelievable, something gold and shiny and- worth it. Worth loving. “That’s going to be fun to deal with later.”

Ed grins at that, full and bright and disbelieving, still, and Roy smiles back, shaking his head, till they’re just smiling at each other like a couple of idiots. 

_Idiots who are in love with each other,_ his brain says smugly. 

“You know,” Ed says after a moment. “I have no idea what to do now. I kind of came in here with no plan.”

“Shocking,” Roy’s voice is so dry Ed kind of wants to offer him a glass of water. Or smack him. “May I offer a suggestion?”

“Sure,” Ed shrugs, and then stumbles when Roy’s hands go tight and then tug him forward sharply. 

Ed catches himself with one hand on the back of Roy’s chair, the other on his shoulder, with Roy’s face very close to his. The smugness that rolls off him in waves this close is almost choking, and Ed hates that he actually finds it very attractive. 

“Ed,” Roy says, and damn the bastard for pitching his voice that low and soft, because Ed swallows against it involuntarily, “may I kiss you?”

“Oh, you bastard,” Ed breathes, “I swear to fuck, if you don’t-“

Roy reels him in then with a hand on the back of his neck and the other holding onto his jacket, and Ed can’t even be mad because he’s got Roy smiling, smug as fuck, against his mouth. Roy’s a solid line of warmth of across Ed’s front, and he just wants to get _closer_ , lick into that stupid, clever mouth as Roy does his level best to fuck up Ed’s braid. 

Roy’s teeth scrape over Ed’s bottom lip, and Ed gives a little shiver, an embarrassingly soft, small sigh breathing out and suddenly Roy’s hands are that much more insistent. No longer the near delicate, tentative touches, but a hand snaking beneath his jacket to splay against his spine, the other sliding into Ed’s hair. 

Ed responds by hiking up a knee and crawling into Roy’s lap in the middle of the Fuhrer’s office, propriety and middle of the work day be damned. 

The chair groans a little when Ed manages to seat himself, knees spread wide to fit, but Ed is still- oh fuck, god damnit, he’s slightly smaller than average, only barely, but it’s really fucking working out in this instance as he’s managed to get a knee on either side of Roy’s lap and the new position is doing wonders for the crick the other angle was giving his neck. 

“Good lord,” Roy says, sounding dazed, delirious, one hand sliding up the Ed’s spine in a way that makes him want to arch into it, “you- Ed-“

Ed shuts him by kissing him again, and Roy is a solid line of heat against him, and he can press _so close_ like this, chest to chest, squirm his way as close as he can possibly get. 

When he does that, wiggling his hips, Roy lets out a hiss and his hand tightens at the back of Ed’s head, right at the base of his braid, and Ed sucks in an almost shocked gasp. 

“Fuck,” Ed says, surprised and voice weak, “Roy, oh my god-“

There is a sharp knocking at the door. “Colonel,” Riza’s voice comes clear through the door. “I’ve taken the liberty of rescheduling your meeting with the Minister of Transportation for late tomorrow afternoon. I’ve also taken the liberty of clearing your schedule for the rest of the day, and calling you a car.”

A pause. 

“Yes, thank you Hawkeye,” Roy’s voice comes a moment later. It’s only because Ed is still pressed so close that he can feel it vibrate through his chest that Ed detects the faint note of strain. “That’ll be all.”

“I’m sure it will, sir,” Riza says calmly. “Please let Ed know I’ve also called his brother and let him know that he won’t be home tonight. He requests that Ed bring home the bagels from ‘that one good place on sixth’ in the morning.”

“…Right, thanks.” Ed says. 

“Thank _you_ ,” Riza says. “My time slot was up next week.” Her footsteps fade as she walks away. 

Ed buries his face in Roy’s neck. His ears feel like they’re going to burst into flame any moment. “I can’t believe she outed me to Al,” he says, voice muffled. 

“I can,” Roy says, rubs a comforting hand up Ed’s back. It’s maybe not as comforting as it could be, considering that Ed is still in his lap and still pretty interested in continuing on where they had left off, interruptions notwithstanding. “What did she mean about the time slot?”

“Oh, there was a bet, remember I mentioned it earlier?” Ed says, getting distracted as Roy’s hand swept lower and lower on his back. 

The hand stills. “What?”

Ed sighs, leans back so he can look Roy in the face. Roy looks vaguely discomfited, staring over Ed’s shoulder at the door as though he can see through it at the people betting about their Fuhrer’s love life. “Roy,” Ed says, and is gratified by the way Roy’s eyes snap back to his own. “Leave it. For now.”

“Hm,” Roy said. “It does appear that I don’t have any meetings for the rest of the day.”

Ed cocks an eyebrow. “What will you do with all this free time, Colonel?” 

“That’s Fuhrer to you,” Roy says, his hands sliding even lower. Ed doesn’t have a moment to react to _that_ before Roy is abruptly standing up, making Ed squawk as he’s lifted into the air and then deposited on Roy’s desk. 

“Don’t fucking do that,” Ed snaps, trying to ignore the sharp thrill that had run through him at the manhandling. 

“Mm, of course,” Roy says in return, obviously seeing right through him. He puts his hands on his desk on either side of Ed, slotting himself in between Ed’s legs, the reverse image of Roy in his chair. Roy’s face is open in a way that Ed sees it so rarely, like every mask that he has Ed has shattered on the floor. Wrung him through the ringer, an emotional gauntlet set by Ed and God.

“You- you’re good to me,” Ed blurts out. That wasn’t exactly what he meant to say, but the pink flush through his cheeks is worth it for the way Roy’s face softens. 

“I will always try to be,” Roy says, quiet. He leans in and kisses Ed again, soft and chaste. “You’re good to me, too.” 

Ed hooks his fingers in Roy’s collar and drags him back in, wraps a leg around Roy’s waist and kisses him with everything he’s got- every pound of flesh that’s ever been taken from him, every spark of blue lightning’d alchemy, every lick of Roy’s flame and every eye in the Gate of God. 

_Everything,_ he thinks. _Everything._

**Author's Note:**

> :-) my fav boys
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/ohwickedsoul)
> 
> stay healthy, stay safe, be good!


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